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"Such beautiful lines this pen has wrote And meant nothing to anyone... A symbol of all that I feel in each note Which I have shared openly with everyone. Expression has lost its value to me For no one could ever receive The true message in every soliloquy That no man could ever perceive. I am a person worth more than this, Worth five times my weight in gold. Never again shall I share a kiss Without anything measurable to hold. To be told that I will look back in years And smile upon what I see Would be more than a lie and nothing but tears for that person was never me. To hold back and hide all that I feel Is nothing close t

Impacting on the human pride, mascara runs are no quick fix. Behind the made-up mask they hide a spirit torn by lethal tricks. All glimmer of the heart abandons you through tearducts to your cheeks and stale air with even staler view with dryness and composure reeks. Your corner is your own confine that you have made yourself. Your arms and wrists and hair like twine lay limp upon this shelf. Lifeless as your body lies, your eyes remain the same, the bloodshot dimly focused lines all clouded with the blame... Unblinking, if you would, but restless in your mind. ...If will-power only could leave death so undefined... A glim

Many years can wash away the proof Of any change that could have once been held. Making any guess would be uncouth For who are they to say what was withheld? Things that one can say as one who knows What can and cannot actually be true: Things they reap are often things they sow And as a human, diff'rent's normal too. Nothing can be new before it's strange Or unaccepted by conformity All they think is that which could derange becomes a kind of weird deformity. Maybe it is time they fin'lly learned That change is that which they have always yearned.